Long Tycoon Poems
Long Tycoon Poems. Below are the most popular long Tycoon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tycoon poems by poem length and keyword.
i look at these gas prices today
and they make it hard to laugh
when 10 dollars gets me a quater tank
but 20 wont get me half
so all my other expenses i have
i must put off to the last
after running around paying other bills
once again i'm out of gas
therefore i pull into the station
where i dam near faint
when i see that 20 dollars
only puts 5 gallons in my tank
i need to start riding a bike
but i have too far to go
so i end up staying home alot
cause i cant afford the petro
i remember when gas was 94 cent
back then we were really spoiled
now it doesnt make any sense
the price they put on oil
why could'nt i have been an oil tycoon
or an arabian king
then the last thing i would worry about
is the price of gasoline
as for now i think that electric car
has found itself a new fan
for this is the last time you see me
walking !! with that damn gas can
You were born in a specialist clinic
I was born at the front door of my house
we both came into this world and survived.
You’ve been eating foreign cuisines and expensive delicacies
I’ve been taking porridge and traditional soups
we both have grown and are a significant part of the society.
You go to school in Jeeps and exotic vehicles
I use public transport and finish it up with a walk
we both went to learning institutions and acquired knowledge.
You roll with the high and mighty and get a super model married
I’m surrounded by the middle class
and marries one never will be in Wikipedia
we both are active in the food chain and wonderfully living our lives.
You become a CEO or rather own a firm
I get employed by you to run your empire
we both sure need each other to function and drive.
Gold and Diamonds will decorate the casket of your funeral
mine may not even be worthy of a coffin, just a plain box
we’ll nevertheless be dead and our chapter closed without preference.
It is only a pathology when the eye gets larger than its socket,
comparison cuts the muscles of esteem and gives greed a new suit,
making simplicity a very complex attribute to attain
and a life full of complexities a better friend to existence.
Life is simple, we just make it complicated.
A civil servant wants to live at par with a tycoon
allowing his throat tie down the strength of his hands.
Every destination has different roads,
be it the highway or a rocky path.
Take the one within your speed limit,
the timing may show some reaching before or better than others
but the most important thing is, the destination reached
as achievement is decorated while life stay simple.
Chuck looks slender and charming
wearing his black
tux, white silk shirt, black
tie, black rose boutonnière on his lapel ,
and polish black
patent leather shoes;
drives up in his black Cadillac.
Chuck, a Texas oil tycoon, is a character,
drinking a glass of Black Crow whiskey.
Charlene, his foxy lady in black
dress and sable, diamonds woven in her black
hair, playfully flirting sips champagne.
Black twilight night emergent rays
cast twinkling stars through crystal chandeliers.
Cheerlessly, the black raven spies.
Chaffinch tips it blue-grey cap,
chirps under the black shadows of the trees.
Black sleek cat with white lighting eyes,
lurking in the moonlight, sighs.
Black gold drilling,
is Chuck’s conversation with his chairman.
As music plays, Charlene dances with his partner.
8/25/2021
not for contest
just musing
I’m an Asian
So, I’m civilized!
-Really?
I’m a European; an American white
I’m an Oceania and I’m civilized!
-Really!?
I’m an African
Victim of apartheid
An oppressed black
But, I’m civilized!
-Really!?
I’m a highly educated
Preacher, saint-type motivator
First-class nation of the continent
Aristocratic; elite business tycoon
Yes, only I’m civilized crown
I’m a Muslim; a Buddhist; a Hindu;
I’m a Christian, a Jewish, and a civilized true
I believe in God and holy revelation
I’m religious and a harvester of civilization
I’m an ultra-modernist
I’m a hybrid atheist
I’m the super-food of civilized myth!
-Really!?
-Really!?
-Really!?
Civilization- sneered trade of cultural stage
Famine of fancy in the definitive heritage
All stand on lame peaceful feet to mislead
And invite you to learn from the ownership
Oh! By this word, all are a funny trader
everywhere crawling as hidden viper!
©Mahtab Bangalee/Feb'25
Ka-thump-a-loon, my pet raccoon,
sings opera in the woods at noon;
I love so much to hear him croon.
At night he carols to the moon.
If you are lucky you might hear
the songs he sings most loud and clear;
he plans to make it his career
with performances both far and near.
He will audition sometime soon,
accompanied by his pal baboon
who plays a really mean bassoon;
I know they'll make the critics swoon.
I guess I'll have to go along
and keep long lists of all his songs
and iron his wardrobe of sarongs,
protect him from the cheering throngs.
He seems excited, that's for sure;
he never has been too demure.
He keeps asking for a new coiffure,
a glitter mani- and pedicure.
Last night that crazy old raccoon
sucked on a helium balloon
and ate way too much crab Rangoon,
said he planned to change his tune.
He switched his genre to rock and roll,
thinks he can sing with a lot of soul;
winning American Idol his one goal
with its million dollar prize bankroll.
Things are getting out of hand;
the raccoon's plans are just too grand;
I wish he'd join the forest band
and forget this superstar status plan.
Success can never come too soon
to a want-to-be Las Vegas tycoon
who dreams of a big penthouse saloon,
Ka-thump-a-loon, my pet raccoon.
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, August 18, 2015
49.
Indi Na Ako!
Indi na ako maghandum
Nga mangin pulitiko
Mag-angkon sg gahum kg mga tinawo
Magpasikat sg kasarang kg mga proyekto.
Bag-o mangin pulitiko…
Indi na ako maghandum
Nga mangin negosyante
Mag-angkon sg manggad kg mga kotse.
Bag-o mangin negosyante…
Indi na ako maghandum
Nga makasulod sa media
Sa balita man ukon drama
Kapuso man ukon kapamilya.
Bag-o makasulod sa media…
Indi na ako maghandum
Nga himuon lang “stepping stone”
Ang kon diin ara ako karon
Kay diri ako daw pulitiko man, negosyante kg media person.
Bag-o makasulod sa kon diin ara ako karon…
Ako naghandum nga ang paglupad padasigon
Nagpadayaw sa pulitiko, negosyante kg media tycoon
Sa tuyo nga mangin isa ka maragtason
Nanakit kg nagpahibi sg mga tagipusoon.
Bag-o maghandum nga ang paglupad padasigon…
Akon ginpasulabi ang kaugalingon
Nga ambisyon kg sakon nga balatyagon
Natabunan ang huna-huna sg mga ilusyon.
Samtang ginalab-ot ang mas mataas nga gusto
Ako nabulag kg nagdako ang ulo
Nagbangga kg nanapak sg mga tawo
Paano ko mapamatud-an nga indi ko ina ginusto?
Paano kon ila ako pagabalusan –
Laglagon, patyon ukon nano pa man?
Ano ang akon kasarang nga sila punggan?
Paano ko hambalon nga ako dapat kaluy-an?
Wala ako mahimo kon amo ina gusto nila
Ugaling sa akon sumpa ako anay patapusa
Baydan ang tanan nga utang namon nga kwarta
Mangin amigo sg madamo kg mabaton sg banwa.
Paagi sa pagbuyangyang sa matuod ko nga plano
Ginahatagan ta kamo ideya kon paano
Nga ang akon ambisyon (indi sumpa) punggan ninyo
Kay sa paghandum sg mas mataas – indi na ako!
-09/08-09/2011
(Dumarao)
*sentimental
Pain is art .
The emotions it takes apart.
Pain is the inspiration
an anemy to happiness but filled with acclimation
Pain is the thief ,that comes between couples too ,
So is family at the hands of a tycoon .
Pain is fairless ,yet painful.
Pain is lifeless ,and dauntful .
It came in the lives of my fore ones whilst feasting and west ,
Grabbed each by the legs and left them mumbling the worst .
It is what made you sob ,
And yet strong .
Pain has left you and I parentless,
So are the faces you see helpless .
Pain is the enemy ,
The he who comes not knocking ,
While you are the edge of seventh heaven .
He is not scared ,but can surely turn you a Raiven
I am Me and I'm the poet
I am the paper ophan
I am the letters ,bold
Inspired ,streched up from grieve
And I am the victim of pain
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse
The man in black alit from the stagecoach that hot and sultry day.
With his hat he brushed dust from his suit as he surveyed old Santa Fe.
He pulled his hat down over his eyes as he strode to the nearby saloon.
Who was this mysterious stranger? A gambler or a business tycoon?
There was a prominent bulge under his coat where a pistol might be.
He carried a fine leather valise, its contents provoking curiosity!
He was clad in the finest cloth and was built like an old rugged oak,
Wore white linen, fine leather boots, topped off with a stylish cloak!
He sat down with a sigh, took off his hat and ordered a bottle of rye.
He took not a nip but said, "Fellows, step up! A drink for you I'll buy!"
That was unusual - free booze - they scarcely knew what to think!
But the town rabble and ne'er-do-wells flew to his table for a drink!
In the meantime, the sheriff received word about this new man in town.
He rushed to the saloon with hands on his rods to calm things down!
"What's yer business here, pilgrim? I don't want any trouble!
If you're here to gamble or pimp, you kin leave town on the double!"
"Calm down, mister sheriff! I aim to help you in maintaining the peace!
To deal with those who flaunt the law and help crime to decrease!
May I introduce myself, sir. I'm the Reverend Mister Percival Brown,
And I aim to settle here and build a Presbyterian church in your town!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
A beetle races from its deep hiding
To gather more food for the morning!
Amidst its fields of fruits and bananas,
In the open plains of African savanna.
A tiny black bug, glowing in the sand
It shoots across the sun-dried land
Busy pace and not enough time,
to roll back a nitrogen ball sublime!
Every morning at the break of dawn
The beetle is out as agile as a fawn
It is suited black from top to toe,
Like some tycoon with trade to grow!
It wore no tie, has no briefcase
But had jointed legs for life’s race,
two large feelers that sense the air
To locate discards from cattle’s rear!
Large balls of partly digested grass,
Are a high carbon and nitrogen mass,
Will be stacked over and well stored,
For beetle generations,a wealth hoard!
The storage den is a deep deep hole,
That has a fortune of dung ball rolls,
Collected diligently in an insane craze
To store away in the underground maze!
This busy businessman drives no cars,
But still navigates with milky-way stars,
Can precisely locate mound of waste,
And roll them home for a later date!
It’s desire for earning has no bounds
In a day it makes very many rounds,
hoardings often exceed the life needs,
Yet every morning for more it speeds!!
And finally one day it meets its fate,
A flick of tongue and it’s a lizard’s waste!
In the brief history of this beetles life,
Are the resonance of our own strife!
When the earnings exceed our own need,
wealth becomes just a measure of greed!
The meaningless chase of that wealth,
At an immense cost to our own health.
We may detest the beetle for what it brings,
The beetle has no value for gold savings,
Here is a lesson to us all with greed,
What we already have, is all that we need!